


The Spiral

by SpicyBelladonna



Series: The minds of the wounded [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Depression, Own Character, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-13 22:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14122290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyBelladonna/pseuds/SpicyBelladonna
Summary: She was crying; she didn’t mean to, she didn’t even realise that there were tears streaming from her eyes.Why? That was the question, ‘why was she crying?’.—————Original Work based on the effect of depression, please don’t read if this (and similar topics) may trigger or upset you.





	The Spiral

It was one of those days.  
The days where you sit still and appreciate the beauty of nature around you.

It was days like these she held so dearly, her spirit soared and her entire body relaxed, and yet something felt wrong. So desperately wrong she couldn’t place it. The air was the same, as was the stream, even the meadow hadn’t changed and yet she could feel it surrounding her, chocking her. She tentatively raised a her hand to her cheek expecting to feel nothing but cool, smooth skin and gasped when she felt the dampness of tears. Suddenly she could see the burs obscuring her vision, clouding her entire being. 

She was crying; she didn’t mean to, she didn’t even realise that there were tears streaming from her eyes.  
Why? Why was she sad? That was the question; how, in such a beautiful and peaceful place as this, did she manage to find even an ounce of sadness. The incessant tugging in her chest seemingly dragging her down. So she stood there in the clearing surrounded by the nature she loved, the wind gently blowing her hair and a serene smile on her face while tears freely gushed from her eyes.

Her friends had at first asked her what was wrong, tried to comfort her, but they couldn’t. They couldn’t understand her anymore. They couldn’t see the cloud that hung permanately over her head, they couldn’t feel the tug that constantly begged her to fall further, further towards her inevitable doom. They didn’t understand. But they did see the tears, they heard how small her voice had become, they saw how pale and sick she was looking. 

So she hid.

And yet it still tugged, so she smiled during the day and let the flood of tear gush forwards at night. Yet no matter how many tears she shed it was still there, still tugging. So she settled into a routine:  
Smile for her friends,  
Cry for herself.  
Lie for her family,  
Hide from herself.

So it carried on, day after day, week after week, month after month. Still tugging, still crying. No one could stop her, her routine was now automatic, her mask so neat and perfect.

Her friends didn’t see the mask, her friends didn’t understand it was too late, how could they?

They didn’t know. They couldn’t know. It was too late,  
She had become her mask.


End file.
